What if
by mysticwryter
Summary: This goes into the mind of a killer before he makes his first kill. What would it be like to know what was in his head before? Based on a poem I wrote a long time ago. R&R Please!


**OK..This is a one-shot thing. I wrote this poem (what's in bold) when I was 18. I had a lot of things going on in my life and I felt that I was hitting a rather hard wall. As I re-read it today in my diary, I found myself thinking of Freddy but before he committed his crimes. What if he felt the same way? As I started writing this, I got more into the feeling and emotion of despair and yet joy, two emotions I thought that would never be used at the same time. Well, I guess there's always a first. Please take a chance and also read The Prodigy. I will be continuing to work on that story as time progresses. This was just a small break within the chapters. Please read and review; I always find comments rather hurtful but with constructive criticism, I comes with the package. Thanks!**

**What if the lightning crashes?**

He paced around his familiar friends of steaming pipes, exhausted steam and damp. With is heart shaking and trembling fingers, and sweat flowing from his temple, he fits the first blade and fastens it to the glove's bolts. The sparks flying while he hammered the blade into place. With every grunt he came closer to his goal; fulfilling his inside urge, the desire of the kill. Inside his head flooded with images and questions. Loretta's face filled his mind along with his daughter, Katherine. "My sweet Katherine," he whispered to himself and felt a single tear fall from his eyes. He wiped away suddenly and returned to his work.

**Breaking me and shaking me; taking me over**

The thoughts were ever more present in his mind. The sensations, the inevitable joy of playing God. His smile appeared onto his face; his lips jagged and ripped from withholding what he wanted no one to know. The times he would bite his lip and spew the warm blood only fueled his anger, his rage. He took in a deep breath and felt the building anticipation continue. He tried to block the images of his wife, his daughter but as he continued to work on his project, they invaded his mind, bringing memories of the past; the wedding exchange of rings, Loretta's young smile through the white veil. Her lips warm and plump as he first kissed her. The feel of Katherine in his arms, wrapped in a cloth with placenta and blood. How he felt so happy when they could watch Katherine playing in the backyard, picking wildflowers from the fence. He closed his eyes and shook his head and focused again upon is unfinished work; putting aside the internal battle of good vs. evil.

**I kill myself being miserable**

With every strike of the hammer, setting the blade into the fastenings, he feels death breath upon his face. The known presence of his horrid breath full of brimstone and decay, he continued through the slams and focused on, feeling life leave his hands as he felt the strike. The gasp and look of loss within the pupils of his victims, the last grasp at his sweater tighten and then soon weaken. He knew that with every victim he would die as well, in the same pain and final relief of his sin. He knew that with only one, the urge would intensify and the way he to subside his addiction was to keep killing. The last part of ever knowing he was a man left him and now he was a shell of a former being.

**Face to face I'm left with seasons of behavior**

Throughout his life he dealt with pain in more ways than one. His step-father which he thought was his way of freedom from his world of hurt, only fueled the demon within. The beatings of so called "medicine" left its impressions on his back, legs and arms, white and ever evident. The names he was given as he was a growing child, only began the fights, the ever more impure thoughts of blood, carnage of hate and revenge. Along with the haunting reminders, he found his muse, Loretta he called her, and found purity in many ways he never experience; The feeling of her hair when he brushed it through his fingers, the taste of her kiss when they were in the heat of passion, the tightness of her core when he ravaged through her innocence, moaning with joy and rapture. The sight of pure beauty when his child was brought before him. Her blue eyes, twinkled as she opened and closed them, her screaming and crying only was sought to be her welcome of life. Seeing Katherine walk and saying her first words, "DA-DA" and how he felt his heart swelled with love and admiration. But now his fever of un-natural desire invaded his heart and only gave what he thought was his life a slap within his face.

**I crossed my heart, left promises unfulfilled**

"I knew that I loved you, from the first time I met you", he reads in his head from the letter she will never see, laying on his workbench, "you were my star. A way for me to find my way home. You and Kat are my home, that will never change. But with every fairy tale ending, I find myself pushing away from your light, and that's my fault. I love to feel your touch again, but even my skin is tainted in this evil. I can't stop...and it scares me to even admit. I know that you will climb high and only think of me as your devoted husband, caring father, and ever more the love I have for you will never die. These feelings I've had all my life, they grow even darker and soon I find myself alone and finding relief within the dark. My urges of my sin, whether being to maim a other person or child, I can't find the courage to ask forgiveness." He felt the tears welling in his eyes and he fought back the urge to sob. His hands shaking, warping the letter and scattering the tears as they fell upon the paper. He still continued to read softly to himself, "This is my sin and I must live within it. I am my mother's sin, her so called "blessing" from the sister's at Westin Hills was her burden and now is mine. I can't let that be of Kat. So pure when her eyes shine in the sunlight. I keep her in my thoughts so I can fulfill my deed; so that I know she will be safe within your arms, as you were in mine. Don't ever forget the man you married, you shared you body with and gave life to our wonderful daughter. I love you both and I will cleanse myself of this with the blood of others. This is the only way I see as finding peace within my head. Goodbye, Loretta. Goodbye Katherine. I love you both. As always, Fred."

**Left in a figure 8; round**

With cleaning his head full of sorrow and grief as he left the letter upon the workbench, he turned toward his working anvil and began to work on the final blade. Shaping the curve of the finger to sharpening the tip down to the middle, seeing the stainless shine of the edge. He worked diligently, until the blades were sharp, clean and precise.

**Falling apart into the abyss of black**

With ever more realization of what was to come, he could only see an ending with bloodshed. He gathered his leather glove and seared the fingers to the middle. Patiently he worked within the leather, working the steel to surround his fingers, not to make anymore cuts and to find a way of comfort if he were to slip it on; a way to know that he was still the same man before.

**I cry; wail to the silence of my own breaths**

His eyes were red with heartache and his will already broken. The silent sobs became heartfelt confessions to his surrounds. The steaming pipes hissed as if they were listening. Fred stopped and found council within the pipes. Heating the water that will flow through the building, the hiss in harmony in and out of rhythm. With that he began to hum along with the hissing.

**Feeling shameful and breaking down.**

The sobs were uncontrollable and his breathing erratic. He fell upon his knees and screamed into the cold concrete.

**Free falling unto the unholy confessions of my mind, I become this structural defect**

He clasped his hands together and prayed out loud. "I know you are here within these walls. Hear my confession you so-called God. My Name is Fred Kruegar and this will be my first and last confession to you. I've live a life of servitude to your absence. Your fictitious books and sayings of "do this unto me" shit that I found that was never to be words that formed at your mouth. You lie, you cheat and you steal all that is holy within this world. Why must you torment me with such thoughts as I've experienced my entire life? Why did you curse my mother with a seed that was not deemed to live within this world? You say that every chid has a chance to live within your eyes, but I'm not from your eyes. I'm from the hundreds of fuckin' lunatics that roamed the halls of Westin Hills. I'm from the mother that was locked in and was raped repeatedly by these dirty men. Their seed was sprayed upon her face, her body and within her. She screamed for your guidance and she was a child of light, your child. Yet you let this happen to her. I happened. Fuck your morals, values or whatever you seem to be as gracious you may be. You killed my mother and with that, I confess my sin that you shall never take from me or cleanse. I will kill what you call a child of light, the eyes of the future. I will lay my blade upon their subtle skin and rip the essence of what is pure. I will gorge myself in pleasure as I see their bodies fall before my feet in defeat; their last breath escaping their mouth. I DO THIS UNTO YOU BECAUSE YOU CURSED ME!" He screamed loudly to the high ceilings, reverberating his voice unto the steel and brick.

**Their sickly appetite of sorrow drowning in the mist of heartache I keep wondering if I'm not alone in my thoughts as I create a prison of accusations'**

"_I'm a monster. A victim. A relief. A demon. What is to be come of me? Will I burn for my mistakes or will I be beckoned to return. With or without the knowledge of experience, I guess I will never know until I do it." _he thought to himself. His breathing began to slow

**The embers rise with red frustration and I let them absorb**.

The heat within the room, overwhelmed him as the venom flowed through his veins. His sweat was absorbed by the steam and fire. He burned inside as the demon grew impatient.

**What if I could turn things around, like father's time hand as it winds down our lives?**

He would take it back, but the demons only encouraged him to continue. Without his feeling of sorrow or remorse, he felt more empty as he turned toward the door, blade unsheathed. The questions popped though his brain but subsided when he laid eyes upon his goal. Anticipation building in the beat of his hear, he proceeded through, adjusting his brown fedora over his eyes. "_No going back,"_ he thought as he opened his hand and watched the knives twinkle in the overhead lights. He took his last step forward as a man and ran into the darkness...only to become a monster which every child will fear.

**What if?**

**This was something that was rather short and sweet. I always wanted to know if he ever thought twice, what he would think as he put that glove on for the first time. This is just an idea of what it may have been. **


End file.
